Planes of Preparation
by Raxen12
Summary: Dominic Whitewater's spark has ignited, and he jumps from plane to plane to offer aid, and gather resources for his journey home. A great threat awaits him back on Innistrad, and he will need all the help and knowledge he can muster to handle it. Along with Isabelle Evergreen, an elven bard, he travels from plane to plane in search of all that he'll need.
1. A Spark Ignites

Freezing rain slanted down, clattering off the pristine armour of the guards. The metal and hardened leather of their breastguards glistened; their blades were sharp, tips pointed to the ground in preparation for the battle to come. Water wove its way down the silvered weapons. Each of the five individuals stood tall. They breathed deeply, and stared out to await their demise.

They were cathar; holy warriors. Trained and honed to battle the dead and twisted monstrosities that inhabited Innistrad. The duty of every one of them tonight was to protect the township of Mahone, and despite the overwhelming hordes already streaming through the storm-slick streets, they would fight to their last. They would die, but, by the name of Avacyn, they would extort such a toll in the process.

Amongst them stood Dominic Whitewater. He was not the senior of the group, but his blue eyes had a hardness to them that was not from birth, but battle. He was six feet tall, broad shouldered, and with battle hardened skin sporting a small patter of criss-crossed scars beneath his metal breastplate. He had thick brown hair, long enough that he had to tie it back to make sure it did not crowd the corners of his vision, but the rain running down from his eyebrows toward his chin did so, anyway. He had the easy, fluid motion of a trained man, never wasting effort when he need not.

His leather gloved hand shifted and fastened around the hilt of his blade. A simple, long weapon, nicked with use. There were a few smaller blades about his body, strapped to his waist, across his chest, and into the side of his boot, and a slightly mix-matched combination of leather and metal armour that protected his vitals, but gave him free movement.

"Is that a trick of the light, or..." Asked Winton, at Dominic's side. The other man shook his head.

"No. It is not. They're coming." He growled lowly, and, as one, they brought their blades up into a more combat ready stance.

"Hold fast. If we fall, those last souls we guard will be out of chances." It was the grizzled, bestubbled veteran in the middle. He spat to one side, the offering lost in the rain. "We stand against every damned one of 'em."

The shadows broke around the onslaught of figures, but it did so late into their charge. The fast-moving vampires were barely twenty feet away, and they moved fast; inhumanly fast. Some ran low to the ground, as though doubled over but running at full pace, while others soared a few feet from the ground.

Dominic and his companions had a few moments to watch the horrible contortions of the oncoming enemies. As far as Dominic was concerned, vampires were the most repulsive creatures on Innistrad. Werewolves were monstrous, the undead were disgusting, and demons horrific... But none of these abominations matched the gruesomeness that were the vampires. They had perfect, pale-skinned faces, with prominent cheeks and slender, fine features. They were often beautiful, regal humans, and that was what made them turn Dominic's stomach. Now, in the onset of battle, their features were twisted. Their lips were drawn back over wicked fangs, long claws had replaced their natural nails, and they moved with more speed than any human should possess. Their movements were twisting and unreal, and to see a human act like the most depraved of monsters... Dominic loathed them.

The two sides clashed: the men bringing their swords down as the vampires darted this way and that. They were trying to use their speed to find an opening or the slightest of gaps to sink their fangs into. Dom's first swipe found purchase and the creature recoiled with a gutteral hiss, but his second slipped narrowly wide of the creatures. Claws raked his arms, leaving a searing series of scores in his skin. He cut another with his backslash, but at his side his companion was swallowed by a mass of wickedness that seemed to simply envelop Dom's battle brother.

The vampires were many. The cathar were trained, and valiant, but, one by one, they were driven back, or overwhelmed. Dominic felt his shoulders hit the wall. His sword arm ached and throbbed with the deep cuts, and he had a few smaller wounds to add to it. The vampires were darting in and out of range, waiting for him to tire, and laughing with oddly melodic voices whenever he tried to swipe at one. His blade cut through the night when they surged forward, but they coiled back. They were playing with him. He was trapped. Bleeding. A sea of death was before him, and a stone wall behind him. His friends had fallen, the innocents he'd tried to protect would fall...

Dominic cursed the damned creatures in a low mutter to nobody in particular. If this was his end - he thought to himself, feeling grim fury clutch at his head - then they would pay dearly. With a grim resolve he doubted that he would survive, so all that remained was to slay as many of them as he could. Perhaps he would save one or two townsfolk in the process.

Dom set his jaw, brought his weapon up, and rushed them. He sliced left and right and felt, with a grim, morbid satisfaction, his sword cut into one of the monsters each time. He spun, to use it to bat away a swiping arm and let another rake across the metal shoulder guard. For a moment it was a dance, and wherever the silver of his blade spun a vampire screeched and recoiled backward.

But all dances come to an end. A blow caught the side of his head and he staggered to the ground stunned, head spinning. In a heartbeat, they were on him, a sea of assassins, ripping, tearing...

There was a bright light, bright enough to sear his eyes. He felt a lurch, and knew that he was dying. Everything burned, everything was brilliant... And he was torn from Innistrad, sent lurching from the only plane he'd ever known. He tumbled, aimlessly, through the void between planes. He had a fleeting moment to realise, in shock, that his spark had flared, and that he was a Planeswalker now...

And then he crashed down into something that felt far harder than it was. Darkness stole over him. Perhaps, death would claim him after all.


	2. An Ally Approaches

Sunlight shone across Dominic's eyes, causing a glow on his eyelids that didn't abate until he cracked them slowly open. He saw the light falling in pure rays, diffused by the thick foliage overhead. He was struck immediately by how green the leaves were; on Innistrad, leaves varied from dusky grey to sickly green. These were bright and brilliant as emeralds. The undergrowth was equally thick and verdant, creating a rich, earthy smell that mixed with the pervasive aroma of flowers, trees, and life. He smiled wryly that he was thinking about something as trivial as leaves, after all that had happened.

He forced his attention to turn from trivialities to the extent of his injuries. His arm burned with a deep ache radiating from three parallel wounds and every muscle in his body complained. He tried them one by one and, though they seemed to work, they all pinched uncomfortably as he did. He would live and nothing was broken. That didn't stop him hurting from top to toe.

"You woke up," stated a soft, melodious voice. It was gentle, feminine, and nearby. It was musical in nature and even more so to his own ears, which had worried whether they'd hear another voice ever.

Dominic twisted himself quickly to roll heavily onto his side, searching out the source of it and causing a shock of stinging pain to bolt through him. It made him hiss. There, framed by the wooden bars of a cage he'd apparently been locked into, was a crouching figure. She had honey blond hair, falling in waving ringlets down her back and the side of her face. From between the cascading hair sprouted a pair of elongated, elven ears. That fit in with the rest of her features, which were finely cut and possessed a graceful beauty. Her eyes were large, deep green, and intelligent. They were focussed on Dominic.

"I did," he replied simply, stretching out. His eyes were cautious as they regarded the girl; he'd never seen another of her kin, and didn't know quite what to make of her. The fact that the girl seemed serene and gentle should have soothed him but he had the wits to be wary as well, until he knew more. As he woke, he found his body slowly starting to respond more easily. He was still sore, but he was whole, and as he eyed his body he saw that there was even a healing salve rubbed into the scratches along his arm, doing nothing to mask a thick purpling bruise but at least sealing the wound. It seemed green and leafy and when he sniffed at it it had a sharp but herbal smell to it. He had been stripped of his armour, but left in his sweat-stained, white undershirt, and leather britches. His weapons were gone, of course. "Where am I? What...?"

"Pellandor forest." He didn't recognise the name. "My tribe and I found you, in a glade not far from here. You were not conscious." She moved carefully toward the edge of the cage. Now that she was closer he could see genuine concern in her sparkling eyes. He could see, too, that dress was long at the back, but short at the front; there was a brilliant display of legs that, despite Dominic's injury, he couldn't completely ignore. She was beautiful, striking in a way that few humans ever managed. Her fingers wrapped around the bars. Despite himself he smiled at her and he felt oddly absolved of the concern that she might be hostile.

"I am Dominic Whitewater. A cathar, from Burkton. That... is a town on Innistrad, where I do not believe I am any longer?" It was hard to explain how he knew; some innate, deep seated sense of place, telling him that he was far, far from home.

The elf lowered herself to crouch down, legs neatly tucked to one side. "You are not; you are on Zendikar. We don't get humans here. I have only seen one other, long ago." She seemed to reminisce a little. There was a small smile playing across her features. Dominic fancied that if she could abandon the animal wariness between them, her smile might have been radiant. Her fingers ran up and down the bars indicatively. "Which is why we are cautious."

"I understand, but I assure you I mean no harm to you or yours, Miss."

"Isabelle," she corrected him, voice soft and her eyes turned away. She shouldn't be talking to the prisoner, not really, but he was fascinating. So like her and yet so alien. She'd been watching him all night, despite the complaints of the other elves, whom she called family.

"Isabelle..." he repeated, lips curling into a small smile. It was pretty name. It suited her. He gathered himself enough to put his feet beneath him and rise to a sitting position. There wasn't much space in the cell, which was no more than a cube made of branches, each of which was straight in a natural, gnarled sort of way. It was uncovered, but in the warm day that didn't matter much and,though there was no furnishing, the ground was soft. There was a thick moss on the ground that was more comforting to his backside than any carpet he'd ever encountered. His movement made him wince at some complaint from a very beaten back, but once he was settled it faded back to a duller throb. "A pleasure. I don't suppose you're just waiting to let me out?"

The elf's lips curled back into a faint, thin smile and she shook her head, causing her thick hair to stir behind her. "No. I should tell the others..." She looked over her shoulder, but she wouldn't have to go and fetch anyone. Drawn by the voices of the pair, a couple more elves approached. One on the left was another woman, with brown hair, dark skin, and deep eyes. She was tall and her body slipped so easily through the undergrowth nearby that she seemed to be able to dodge even the thickest brush; there was not a sign of their passing. On the right, a man, of a similar height as her but broader across the shoulders. His eyes were dark and his angular face was severe. Instinctively, Dom hopped onto the balls of his feet. The cage only allowed for a low crouch.

"Isabelle," He said in something of a drawl, though his voice was still harmonic. "Please leave the prisoner. You can return to the camp. Entertain the warriors, if you will, their wills are low." The blond elf rose, her head bowed a little. She glanced to Dominic, a soft apology in her eyes, then turned to slip back along the non-path through which the others had come.

The two elves approached, almost shoulder to shoulder, to stand over Dominic. Their eyes narrowed and the human suspected it would be wise to interrupt their proud moment. He waited until, after a few long moments, they finally started talking. Their words were directed above his head. Their gazes never met him.

"Human. That you are here is proof of your nature; you are a planeswalker. We would kill you for besmirching our land... But we have need of your power." The man finally glanced down, his eyes narrowed hatefully. The woman looked down too and she took over speaking, following where he'd left off.

"We need to leave this forest soon, before the roil twists and turns it into something else. Such is the nature of Zendikar; our land is regularly sundered and fiercely remade. But there is a hydra between us and escape. We will free you, provided you kill the beast for us."

"Whether it dies or you do, it is one less beast for us to dirty our blades on," finished the man, making his companion smirk scornfully. The two felt so cold that Dominic yearned, oddly enough not for home, but for the gentleness of Isabelle.

Dominic nodded; for what choice did he have? The cage was cut open and he stepped forward to stretch up to his full height, shorter than the elves but carrying himself proud in spite of that. He'd never met a hydra before, but how difficult could it be?

The woman drew a long and perfectly formed dagger to slip easily through a couple of ropes made of thick, green vines, which let one side of the cage swing ajar. She used the tip of the weapon to point toward a tree. "Your possessions are there. I will send someone with nourishment but do not enter our camp. You are no more welcome than the monster itself would be."

As though they were one, the twin elves spun on their heels and left. Dominic was still rolling his muscles. He would need a night's sleep, at least, and a good meal if he was to get over his weariness. His muscles still ached and his head was far from clear; he felt like he'd been battling for days. Then perhaps he could think about what was to come.

He approached the tree. His possessions were tucked neatly against the base of it, in a small nook created by the thick roots. The trees here were vast, both in height and width, and coupled with the thick brush and vines and undergrowth the place was vibrant and wild. Everything was green save the distant sky, which was perfect blue. Birdsong surrounded him and it smelled of deep, rich earth. Fleetingly, he wondered if Innistrad had ever been like this, before the corruption and scourge.

Slowly, he picked up his possessions. He slid his belt around his hips and fastened his sword to it, as well as strapping a spare knife to his boot; the other two he carried. His armour he put over his arm, for he would need to wash himself before he wanted to put it on.

With that done, he moved through the forest. It opened up soon to an open glade, where several elves could be seen moving smoothly from tent to tent. There were a few very ornate tables set up, a couple of them were playing musical instruments, and they ate, laughed and spoke freely amongst themselves... It looked more like a party than the warband he'd expected.

Dominic had no desire to mingle with them and so he skirted along the edge of the clearing and cut into the forest a short way. There was the murmur of a stream and he was drawn toward the pristine, fast-flowing water. Perfect.

He crouched to collect sharply cold water into his cupped hands. The first water he drank and the second he splashed across his face, which revived him even better than he would have expected. For a moment he glanced toward the camp, a hundred yards distant but swallowed by the growths, before peeling his clothes away and dropping them to one side. Dressed only in his underclothes he dropped down from the steep bank into the water. He had to crouch low to scoop water up over himself. It erased the sweat and weariness from him, though the cold made him gasp at first.

He was still washing when Isabelle arrived once more. Dominic's sense of something out of place made him lunge to his feet and glance around, expecting danger rather than the woman. He flushed, aware suddenly that his reaction was too much. Not to mention that he was scarcely dressed.

He clambered up the bank, which he managed easily even in his weary state, and started to use his shirt as a towel, and dress swiftly into his leathers. Isabelle's eyes were cast aside, though she couldn't resist a small, narrow smile. She waited a dozen feet away until he was dressed before approaching the rest of the way. In her hands was a platter, laden heavily with fruits, very pale bread, and a jar of something sweet and sticky.

"Sorry. I didn't realise you'd be..." Isabelle trailed off, but that thin, amused smile still tugged at her lips. On her pale cheeks, a flower of the lightest pink blossomed, giving her an embarrassed look. Dominic managed a small, short laugh.

"Where I'm from, it should be I that apologises. That looks very good… I confess, I'm ravenous." He nodded toward the meal as he spoke and she brought it over and passed it to him. That made him smile and find a soft, mossy spot to sit, with the tray in his lap. She came to stand nearby but didn't take a seat. There was no cutlery so he tore the bread and poured the sweet syrup onto it, before biting ravenously down. He slowed after the first couple of mouthfuls.

"Thank you, Isabelle. It tastes even better than it looks." He chewed back a few more mouthfuls, trying to mind his manners despite his hunger. Meanwhile, she was watching curiously with her ever-present, faint smile, still a little cautious of him but intrigued, too. "So, uh, who are you to the rest of them? You seem less upset that I happened to land here."

The girl nodded softly and murmured what might have been a soft, subdued chuckle. "We are taught not to welcome anything flawed." Her head tilted to one side as she regarded him, her bright eyes narrowing just a little, though it couldn't lessen their warmth. She shrugged as though it was no big deal. "For them, that means anything other than our kin. I try to see the beauty of others."

"A valuable ethos." He was smiling as he appraised her, viewing her in a whole new light. He'd already concluded that she was kind hearted, but knowing more about her kinsmen he was starting to think even more highly of her. She was unique. Willing to challenge the beliefs she was taught for her own moral compass. It was an attribute he admired deeply, though he didn't know how to express it.

Fortunately, it was she who found her words. She took a step toward him and clasped her hands before herself, long fingers delicately twining themselves around one another. "Actually… I want to come with you tomorrow. I'm not much of a fighter, but I know the wilds. I might be of use, and I worry that without me you'd be returned to the earth." She turned a little pale, and Dominic understood the implication of death.

Dominic was rarely one to put others in danger. His gut reaction was to shake his head and he almost did so. But her eyes were shining with a hope that he couldn't quash. He smiled. His nod was so shallow she barely saw it but she smiled and responded in kind.

"Wonderful," she said, her teeth biting into her full bottom lip. "I'll find you at first light. It will be a hard fight. Rest as well as you can." She looked like she might say something else, but instead twisted with balletic lightness of foot and retreated back into the trees, in the direction of the elven camp. Dominic smiled at her retreating back. He said nothing but ate, and prepared to rest.


End file.
